


a catalog of definitive acts

by strawberricream



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Banter, Confessions, Established Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Festivals, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, Pining, Poetry, Slow Dancing, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26471965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberricream/pseuds/strawberricream
Summary: soft and short one-shots
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Reader, Hanamaki Takahiro/Reader, Kyoutani Kentarou/Reader, Matsukawa Issei/Reader, Miya Atsumu/Reader, Miya Osamu/Reader, Semi Eita/Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 151





	1. a catalog of definitive acts; eita semi

**Author's Note:**

> based off of richard silken’s [litany in which certain things are crossed out](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48158/litany-in-which-certain-things-are-crossed-out)

every school day morning, he wakes up. breakfast. uniform. you in your seat next to his as you stare out the window waiting for class to start.

he wonders what you’re thinking about.

this is what he thinks about: the same big and little words become thoughts in the head spelling out desire, all spelling out:

_are you there? can you see me? is the microphone to my heart live?_

“semi-kun.” the class representative motions to his name at the bottom right edge of the blackboard. “you’ll be on cleaning duty today.”

your name is written neatly next to his. he thinks the characters look pretty together. like lovers.

his cheeks flush.

a blur of people, messy textbook notes and secret glances at you.

let’s jump a few hours.

“oh, well—,” he overhears you talking to a couple girls in class. “i’m not really looking for a relationship right now.”

here’s to the repeating image of love destroyed.

he looks at you.

a swipe. gone are your names together on the blackboard. you cough, clapping the erasers together as dust envelopes you.

a veil.

_stop._

a swipe. he sweeps the floor.

inside his head, he hears a phone ringing. your excited voice as you tell him how you’re going to the same high school. the same bubbliness in it as when you said the same thing about middle school.

when he opens his eyes, you’re across from him, asleep in your pajamas. eita’s a thought away.

from the dirtiest thing.

he turns around, shame burning in his chest.

down, down.

he sits down. the patio. summer’s evening breeze brushing his cheeks. you’re sitting next to him.

you point to the moon, but he’s looking at your hand.

up the stairs. up to your bedroom with the broken dresser handle, your papers, stationary, all your little things.

the sun shines high. beautiful afternoon light.

he looks out the window and sees his house across the street.

“eita.”

his heart aches.

your voice doesn’t sound much different than home.

because it didn’t.

but then there’s him. your _boyfriend._

eita notices the black sky, but not it’s lights.

“i know it was dumb, know he wasn’t worth it for the long run,” you sniffle. “i just hoped, y’know.”

you’re in his bedroom this time. crying, laughing at yourself. you tell him to not make the same mistakes as you, that he could have anything he wanted.

but he can’t find it in himself to say it out loud.

the entire history of human desire takes about seventy minutes to tell.

_really?_

unfortunately, he doesn’t have that kind of time.

let’s jump a few months.

graduation. you’re graduating together.

bathed in a flurry of sakura blossoms, the camera pans to where the action is.

backlit. you’re walking away. far far away. 

it all falls into frame, close enough for anyone to see the longing in his eyes as he says nothing.

he doesn’t like that ending. his love in a river flowing down to the middle of the ocean, to nowhere.

a swipe.

“eita, are you done? i’ll go tell sensei.” you’re close, waving a chalk dusted hand in front of him.

let him do it right for once, make a story that’s heart wrenching, not breaking.

his heart houses a city with your name on it.

“uh, yeah, almost.” he grabs your wrist softly. “could i ask you something?”

you move in that afternoon.


	2. something to hold; koutarou bokuto

“babe!”

your eyes flick from your report to settle onto bokuto’s face. “yeah?”

he’s lying on his hotel bed, arms curled around one of the large, soft matching plushies he won for the two of you three summers ago. his smile is ever so bright and beautiful through the screen of your ipad.

“ask me ‘what’!”

you laugh; his exuberance is contagious. “what?”

“i love you! and miss you!! so much,” he sighs, pouting, arms tightening around the stuffed animal. he wishes you could be right here with him, typing away as he fell asleep to the sound of your pretty fingers dancing across your keyboard.

“i love you and miss you too, kou,” you smile, blowing him a kiss.

he catches it and returns it to you tenfold. you laugh softly, heart brimming full and overflowing as you fall in love all over again.

“are you sleepy?”

he rubs his eyes, shaking his head. “nope!”

a little, he thinks. but he doesn’t want to end the call! there are still six more days until he can see you and you’ll be busy for the next three so he wants to savour the moment, bask in your liquid light.

“s’okay, kou, i know you have a match tonight.”

he’s in nakhon ratchasima for the asian men’s club volleyball championship; a two hour time difference from where you are in tokyo. he’s glad for it, means that he can video call you throughout the day without having to worry too much about the timezones.

he nods. “then, can we hold hands? and you’ll watch me play right?!”

“of course! i always do,” you giggle softly. “here,” you hold out one of your hands, balled into a fist.

he beams, holding out his own. tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you giggle softly. his eyes flick from the tops of your ear to your hands to your pretty eyes, devout adoration sparkling in them. his heart melts.

“sleep tight. i’ll be here until you wake up, okay?”

“‘kay,” he mumbles, watching as you rest your hand on your desk, turning back to your laptop. he squeezes his own.

“love you, kou.”

his cheeks pink as he returns it to you, eyes tracing over your pretty profile, softly highlighted by the sunlight coming from your bedroom window. he drifts off slowly, a soft smile on his face as he nuzzles into the plushie, listening to the sound of your pretty fingers dancing across your keyboard.

when he wakes up an hour and a half later, he grins from ear to ear to see that you’re still here, hand balled up as you work on your laptop.

he falls in love all over again.


	3. winnie the pooh and piglet too; takahiro hanamaki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> childhood friends to lovers fluff fic mixed with themes of nostalgia and old, forgotten toys.

“hiro-chan!”

takahiro looks over at where you’re pointing. the toy scooping game. he nods, letting you lead the way. you gasp in delight seeing the rainbow assorted toys floating in the water. you squeeze the hand holding onto his.

“let’s play together!”

he nods, smiling at you. you smile back, reaching into your small, embroidered purse and take out a 500 yen coin.

“oji-chan! we’d like to play!”

the stand keeper nods, smiling kindly as he gives you your 100 yen change and a pair of scoopers. 

the two of you squat down as you brush the hair in your face away. you eye the small winnie the pooh and piglet charms. takahiro focuses on the mini kamen rider figurines.

carefully, like your uncle taught you, you slowly angle your scoop under the pooh bear, careful to not let the paper get too wet and use the sides of your wand to lift the toy. slowly, you manage to get both pooh and piglet. happy with your achievements, you turn over to takahiro.

“what’d you get?”

“it broke.”

“eh?”

the paper of his _poi_ is torn in the middle. kamen rider floats in the small pool. 

“it’s okay,” he sighs. “i’ll just wait for you by the candied apple stand.” 

before you can say anything, takahiro leaves. you pout, but decide to finish what he couldn’t. you snatch up a kamen rider figurine, a white rilakkuma and a small pikachu before the five year old next to you splashes your scoop, tearing the paper. you shrug and thank the stall keeper, making your way to takahiro. 

“hiro-chan!” you shout, beaming.

“you took so long,” he grumbles, his lips stained red from the candied apple.

you huff. “then, i guess you don’t want this?” you dangle the kamen rider in front of him.

“woah! how’d you get it?” 

“i’m cool like that,” you preen, hands on your hips.

he rolls his eyes. “yeah, yeah.” 

“well?”

“what?” 

now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “where’s my ‘thank you’?”

“you’re giving it to me?”

“well yeah, i don’t really watch it.” you plop the toy in his hands. “you can have piglet too.” 

“eh.”

“don’t be mean! piglet’s cute!”

“maybe for girls,” he sticks out his tongue.

you stick out your tongue in return. takahiro laughs and thanks you, grabbing onto your hand again. 

“do you want a candied apple?”

you shake your head. “i want taiyaki!”

he nods, adjusting the kamen rider mask on the side of his head. 

“i’ll pay for it since you got me the toy.”

you nod, following him as the two of you make your way under the dangling festival lights, throngs of people around you. 

takahiro still remembers the facial expression you made when you burned your tongue on your taiyaki after the cashier told you to be careful. you had almost dropped it too. the two of you had fallen asleep that night at your house, all sprawled out in the living room after the two of you had fought over who got to sleep with the fan on their side.

you and your family moved away two summers after that when he was ten. you visited during the holidays, but after a couple of years, you stopped coming all together as you got older and left that chapter of your life behind.

but the thing is, you came back to miyagi. three years ago for high school. you enrolled in the advanced class and stayed late to study while takahiro stayed late for volleyball. 

during holidays, you still went over to each other’s houses for dinner. your moms couldn’t stay away from each other. the only difference is that you don’t talk anymore. not really. 

now that the two of you were in your senior year, he blames it on the awkwardness of puberty, of not knowing how to cross the chasm that was years of distance and change. he wants to talk to you, ask you about how kyoto was and what you’ve been up to. it’s just so nerve wracking. 

he puts the mask back into the old, cardboard box, but grabs onto the piglet and kamen rider charm. 

the doorbell rings. 

“mom?”

he doesn’t hear a reply, so he sighs and makes his way to the door. 

it’s you.

“oh, hi,” you say, shyly, holding up a box of manju. “my mom wanted me to bring these over.” 

“thanks.” he fist pumps internally for not stuttering. “she’s not here right now though.”

“oh, no worries,” you say, waving your hands in front of you. 

“uh—.” a soft clatter. _ah shit_ , he thinks. 

you drop down, picking up piglet. your eyes go wide before you smile.

“you still have it?” 

his hands are getting sweaty. “uh yeah.” he opens his palm. “kamen rider too.” 

you laugh and takahiro can feel his nerves dissipate. 

“pooh bear’s collecting dust in one of my drawers.”

he chuckles, “well i just found these, to be honest. they’re kinda cute.” 

you smile coyly. “not just for girls?”

he blinks before a matching grin breaks out. “nah, not anymore.” 

the two of you spend the rest of the afternoon catching up and he finally gets to ask you about kyoto. when you ask why it took so long for him to talk to you, he shrugs and you kick him in the side. he kicks you back and throws the question back at you.

(“i dunno, but the blank look on your face isn’t the most inviting thing, you know. not to mention, you’re giant now.”

“aren’t my luscious pink locks inviting?”

“uh, no.”

“damn.”)

the rest of the school year flies by. spring high comes and goes. entrance exams are studied for and the material forgotten.

but you’re still here. so is he.

and now you’re 24, walking side by hand, hand in hand at the local obon festival. 

you watch as two kids, one dragging the other, dash by the two of you to get to the toy scooping game. 

takahiro checks the time on his phone, piglet charm dangling off it, matching your pooh. you had to replace them when the two of you were 21 and lost them while moving to your new apartment. the sentiment is still there.

“takahiro.”

“yeah, babe?” he adjusts the kamen rider mask on the side of his head.

you flutter your lashes. “buy me taiyaki?”

“sure,” he says, kissing your cheek. 

when you get to the stall, your eyes sparkle. “takahiro, look! they have creamed honey taiyaki!”

he chuckles at your giddiness, more than willing to indulge you. you get one to share, sitting down at a bench as takahiro digs into his yakisoba. 

“it’s so good!” you angle the pastry towards him and he takes a bite. 

the filling melts in his mouth. irresistibly smooth and similar in taste to liquid honey in a thicker richer texture. “yeah, it is.”

he watches you eat and lick up the escaping filling. 

“winnie the pooh.”

you look at him. “hm?”

“winnie the pooh.”

oh, the honey. you laugh, swallowing. “piglet head ass.”

“my pink hair is a strawberry blonde, not a pig pink,” he retorts. “that’s slander.”

“we should have gotten the custard cream one too,” you muse, still laughing. 

“you remind me of custard cream,” he says, shoveling a forkful of yakisoba into his mouth.

“why?” some of the filling drops onto the container below you. 

he smirks, “i love custard cream.” 

you roll your eyes lovingly. “why do you think i said we should have gotten it?” 

the two of you smile at each other, before breaking out into giggles. 

on your way home, you wrap your arm around takahiro’s waist as he slings his arm around your shoulders. he kisses your forehead, murmuring your name.

you look up at him. “what’s up? still hungry?” 

“nah, the yakisoba was really greasy.”

you think back on it. “yeah, it was. still good though.”

he looks down at you, and watches as the late summer sun highlights your pretty hair accessories. takahiro doesn’t really remember what you looked like over a decade ago, when you first came to the obon festival together, but he’s sure you were just as endearingly beautiful as you are now. he leans down a bit, bringing you in a little closer to kiss you.

“i love you,” he says lowly. 

you smile softly, arm tightening around his waist. “love you too, ‘hiro.”

he smiles, fingers toying with the loose strands of your hair. “good. ‘cause even if shit happens, ‘m always gonna love you.” 

you laugh. “you’re such a romantic, takahiro, i’m swooning,” you say, feigning lightheadedness. 

he chuckles, letting all the love and affection he had for you colour the sound of it as it fell from his lips, as sweet as your creamed honey taiyaki. 

because it’s winnie the pooh and piglet too. ah yes, two.


	4. pomegranate seeds; issei matsukawa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which you gawk at each other all glammed up before a fancy work event.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> touches on the myth of [hades and persephone](https://www.infoplease.com/culture-entertainment/mythology-folklore/classical-mythology-hades-takes-wife-persephone); ik this myth is overdone, but i put my own spin on it. also i just know that if issei decided to climb the corporate ladder, he’d make it to a senior role in a snap because he’s good like that……the audacity.

matsukawa sits on the couch of your apartment playing animal crossing, matcha pocky stick in his mouth as he waits for you to get ready.

the company he’s working for was holding a celebration gala tonight for exceeding their growth targets for the fourth quarter. upper management employees were allowed to bring plus ones so issei decided to take you with him. free food, right?

“issei?” you call.

“yeah?”

“could you come here for a bit?”

finishing his pocky stick, he walks into your shared bedroom. his eyes widen dramatically upon seeing you.

you’re in a gorgeous, off the shoulder dress. its hem falls just above your knees. the beautiful way you’ve done your makeup and hair only highlight how breathtaking you are; your heels accentuate your legs, elevating the outfit both literally and figuratively.

he stares at you, entranced as hades was to the innocence and beauty of persephone, he could have perished right then and there and he wouldn’t have faulted you.

“issei?”

for you, love is so easy.

in your beauty, matsukawa feels like he is nothing but a valley princess, gathering flowers on a sunny hill as persephone was, watching in delicate awe as you appear, in your beautiful dress, thundering across the planes in your four-horse chariot to take him away, scooping him up in one arm.

he has to laugh at himself.

“hello?!” you say, a little louder. “issei? are you okay?”

he blinks. “yeah, hello, i’m okay. and you’re—,” he winks, giving you finger guns. “ _beautiful_.” 

you roll your eyes as your cheeks warm, smile tugging mercilessly on the edges of your mouth. you can’t help the laugh that tumbles out at his silliness. he smiles brightly along with you, sneakily grabbing your hand and rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand. you give him a soft peck on the cheek and his grin gets bigger, other arm coming to rest on your hips as he watches you pull away. he returns the kiss to your hairline, careful to not smudge your foundation.

you pull back a touch, soft smile on your face. “could you help me pick out a bag to go with this dress?”

you show him near identical bags, one smaller, one larger. he looks at you for an explanation.

“so,” you take a breath. “the larger one would let me put more things in it, but the smaller one goes better with the dress.”

he holds each bag up to you, and decides on the smaller bag. “take the smaller one. it doesn’t take any attention away from you.”

you huff, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear in shyness. “but, what about all my stuff?”

he hums, grin on his face as he watches you try to hide your face from him. “leave it at home?”

“really,” you huff, bringing your hands up. “i don’t understand how you leave the house with no water bottle, no lip balm, no hand cream, no hand sanitizer, no extra layer in case you get cold just keys and a wallet shoved into your pocket.”

he chuckles, a hand coming to rest on your hips and the other grabs one of your hands. “i’ve survived so far,” he says, leaving a kiss on your palm.

you pout, grabbing onto the lapels of his suit jacket. “not for long.”

not for long indeed. matsukawa doesn’t think he would survive long without you either. he smirks and kisses you, letting your lipstick smear his lips like the saccharine syrup of pomegranates.

“well, that’s why i carry all that stuff now, babe,” he grins, thinking of the cute patterned makeup bag filled with self-care products you put together for him.

‘we’re gonna be late,” you mutter softly, breathing in his cologne.

matsukawa always cleaned up so nicely. he was in a suit daily, but there was something different about today’s; maybe he brought out one of the ones that he got tailored a while back. with the expensive watch you had gotten for him for his last birthday, the gold pin on his tie and the silver rings on his long fingers, you’d never think that he wasn’t a secret multimillionaire. you graze your fingers over the lapels of his suit jacket.

“is this one of the expensive ones you had tailored?”

he nods, turning his head towards your full length mirror as he repositions the two of you in the reflection. he skims his hands over your waist, whispering lowly in your ear.

“it looks good, doesn’t it?”

you blush, turning your head to the side. he chuckles and brings you in closer to him, a hand secured on the small of your back as the other comes up to thumb at your jaw. your glossy lips purse into a pout, realizing that he has little to no intentions of going to the gala.

“what’s wrong, princess?”

“you don’t plan on going to the gala, do you?”

he laughs lowly in his chest again. “nope. at least, not after i saw you in this.”

you huff. “then, why did i spend all this time getting ready?”

“for me?” he tries.

“this foundation’s expensive, issei.”

he hums, still holding you close as he appraises you. “i’ll just buy you another bottle then.”

you know you can’t ever win when he gets like this—he can play you like a fiddle and uses it to his full advantage.

but so can you.

matsukawa can’t take his eyes off your glossy lips as they pull into a smirk of their own. you push at his chest, walking over to grab the smaller purse; you’ll just put your other essentials in your jacket pockets.

“come on, hotshot, there’s free food and i’m not about to start making dinner tonight,” you grin, a hand on your hip.

he huffs a laugh, walking up to you and pressing a kiss to your temple as the two of you make your way out the door.


	5. please don’t take my sunshine away; atsumu miya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> atsumu (17), current concern: it’s the season where your fingertips get really dry.

rain and thunder rumble against glass, drum on the roof. a car drives past the house.

but atsumu’s lets background noise be background noise. he’s resting his chin on your shoulder, watching you buff and shine his nails. 

(“they’re your moneymakers, right?” you had asked him, giggling.)

he watches as you moisturize his hands before digging through the makeup bag you put together for his hands. you pick up a twist pen filled with jojoba oil, gently going over his cuticles. he sighs softly as you work the oil into his fingers, nosing into your soft cheek before leaving a chaste kiss, “thanks, babe.”

you admire your handiwork, looking over his neat nails and pretty hands before turning towards him. 

“s’not like we have anything else to do with the rain,” you say, quietly. you look out towards the window a little sadly. it had been a while since the two of you had gone on a real date; a real date that wasn’t studying or sleeping together with how busy the two of you had been and while you didn’t mind being a homebody, it would have been nice to go out together and do something new. 

atsumu sees the far away look in your eyes and exhales, pulling you into his chest as he rests himself against the back of the sofa. he tenderly kisses your forehead as you lean into his strong chest.

“ya got me here.”

you lift your head to look up at him to see him smirking. you scoff and rest your head back on him, mumbling something incoherently.

“hey! what’dya just say?”

laughing softly, you put a hand on his forearm and squeeze. he pouts, tickling your side. feeling his fingers run up your ribs, you yelp, “‘tsumu! s-stop!”

a grin breaks out on his lips at your giggles. “c’mon, babe, tell me what ya said?”

“o-okay—haha!”

he concedes, putting his hands back around you. he angles his head in front of you, expectant.

“well—,” you breathe, “i was just gonna say, ‘won’t i have you here forever?’”

you’re a little nervous, but you swallow your nerves down. you and atsumu had never really talked about the concept of forever when it came to your relationship. you look down and fiddle with his sweater as your cheeks start to heat up.

unbeknownst to you, atsumu’s very familiar with the concept of forever. in bed, as your consciousness slips away and the weary toll of the day has you burying yourself in his chest for comfort, he’s thought about the rain and shine—your future together, marriage, kids, growing old. 

“‘tsumu?”

he looks down to see worry creasing your pretty forehead, so he kisses it once more. he brings you in a little closer, arms tightening around your waist as a hand travels up to cup your cheek. 

looking into your eyes, he smiles, “‘course ya will, angel.”

you beam, the heaviness on your shoulders lifting. 

_ah_ , he thinks, _there’s my sunshine_.


	6. the sky is the colour of the sky; osamu miya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an anon requested this on tumblr and specified the touching of foreheads. heavily inspired by [this quote](https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/221968-you-re-in-a-car-with-a-beautiful-boy-and-he) from richard silken.

“hey, suna.”

suna yawns, propping himself up on his desk. “are you gonna take her back home?”

osamu nods.

“see ya,” he waves.

“bye.”

osamu grabs your school supplies from your desk and puts them in your backpack for you. on his way to the infirmary, he stops by the cafeteria to get you lunch.

“sensei?”

the nurse isn’t in.

he walks over to one of the cots in the corner, brushing away the curtains.

“miya-kun?” you slur, head fuzzy from your fever.

he smiles. “hey.”

bundling you up in layers upon layers, he leads you in your journey home together.

the faint hum of the train lulls you to sleep.

osamu’s hand on your waist shifts you closer to him.

a bad idea.

is it though?

you’re so close.

( _close_ , the voice in his head whispers.)

he helps you into bed, breathing a little funny. unsteady.

he’s never been in your room before.

“miya-kun.” a soft mumble. “thank you.”

you fall into bed, pushing your face into the pillow.

you don’t—can’t meet his eyes.

you’re in your bedroom with miya osamu, a beautiful boy, a boy you’ve liked since, well, forever, you’d say.

forever.

your whole life was all the forever you’d ever get anyways.

(as if the two of you were only nine yesterday, running your fingertips against the crevices in the school walls as you walked towards the school gym, lined up with the rest of your classmates.

as if middle school and the desire to fit in, to conform, pulled the two of you apart into cliques, weird preteen drama and just, overall, gross things.

as if highschool didn’t hit osamu like a truck in the best way possible and left you floundering for air like a goldfish who tried to escape her bowl, only to realize she‘d never make it outside her glass cage.

(as if he didn't feel the same.

osamu isn’t gonna tell you he loves you, but he loves you.)).

and you feel delirious, like every deity has decided to punish you, and you’re tired.

hot, hot, hot—your fever burns.

you’re in your room with a beautiful boy and it hurts. you’re shivering.

you swallow, choking down the nervousness, the jitters of having him in your bedroom, but he reaches over, touches you, and your throat dries up.

(maybe you’re developing a cough.)

it’s nameless. you couldn’t apply language and do it justice if you could.

a hand on the back of your head. it’s gentle. his forehead against yours.

god. it’s intimacy in the little, unusual places, isn’t it? in the smallest things: watching him click his mechanical pencil as he does his homework, staring at the tone and muscle of his arms as he scoops another bowl of rice for himself, sharing your japanese literature textbook with him since atsumu never remembered to return his.

he smiles. it’s edged with a hint of something. something. something that hides his vulnerability.

“you’re welcome.”

you’re barely holding yourself together.

osamu thinks, thinks he sees something in your eyes. he hopes it’s love. he’s trying really hard to make it love.

your eyes flutter shut, savouring his touch.

his heart takes root in his body.

do you kiss him?

he leans in.


	7. a mirror to your eyes; wakatoshi ushijima.

“‘toshi?”

wakatoshi hums, savouring the feeling of your hands in his as the two of you sway to a soft ballad playing from your phone. 

the stars shine through the tall, glass windows making him think of the one time the two of you went to salar de uyuni for your third anniversary and stayed there late to see them. he still had your matching chullos in his closet. 

“‘toshi,” you whisper.

he looks down at you. you’re looking up at him with your cheek against his chest. 

“is this okay? are you having fun?”

he cups your cheek, kissing you as his right hand traces over your smaller one, caressing the small, twinkling diamond ring on your finger. 

“yes,” he rumbles. 

you giggle softly, lacing your fingers together as the two of you continue to sway. 

“you?” he asks.

“hmm?”

“are you having fun?”

you smile, and he does too, seeing the warmth in your expression. 

“yes,” you say. “i love you so much, ‘toshi.”

and as you drift in his arms, into unconsciousness as he gently brings you to bed and tucks you into his chest, you think his ‘i love you” sounded like you can always come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> salar de uyuni is the world’s largest salt flat. it’s absolutely gorgeous and the water reflects the sky like a giant mirror.
> 
> a chullo is an andean hat made from llama wool you can get as a souvenir.


	8. 11:54am; kentarou kyoutani

kyoutani clicks his tongue, digging into his pockets for his cellphone.

11:52am.

his leg shakes underneath the wooden table, brows furrowed into a resting glare.

he’s early. came fifteen minutes early for your seventh date to the restaurant his dad used to take him on the weekends after playing at the park two blocks away from the used bookstore his mom likes.

he takes a deep breath, eyes glancing over to the dark screen of his phone. you usually get here just six minutes before the meeting time, decently early. politely early.

he shoves his phone back into his pocket, taking a sip of his ice water. he hopes you like the food here. in a way, it’s a part of him, of what made him.

“kyoutani-kun!”

he looks up just to see you slide into the seat across from him, a bright but shy smile on your face.

“sorry, i’m late, did you wait long?”

he shakes his head, “no.”

you look cute today. well, you always do. even when you’re crying and your hair is all mussed up and your clothes are all wrinkled. but today, the warm weather has you showing just a little more skin, just a little. your skirt is just a little shorter and your top a little more low cut.

“kyoutani-kun.”

he snaps back to you, “yeah?”

you give him a small smile, “i like your hoodie—it looks really good on you.”

if this were one of those dating sims he saw yahaba play on his mobile phone before practice on thursday, kyoutani is sure you would see a thermometer-like bar next to him fill with some bright pink fluid as hearts erupt around him. the soft smile and giggle you give him as you use the menu to hide your face has him grip his knees tightly, face flushing into a soft pink as he turns away in embarrassment, giving you a gruff “thanks” and “you, too.”

he sneaks a glance at you once your giggles fade into the restaurant’s ambient noise only to see you do the same. he averts his eyes again, ears tinting red.

“so…,” you start, looking at him shyly, “is there something you wanted to get, kyoutani-kun?”

he looks back at you and shakes his head, “i’ll just get whatever you get.”

“mm, okay. then, what’s your favourite?”

“huh?”

you muster up the courage to look him in the eye. “you said you used to come here a lot with your dad, right?”

he nods.

“well, i’d like to try what you guys had and, y’know, take the chance to learn more about you and your family.”

something grows in his chest, warm and deep. he really wants to kiss you right now. what you said was so.. _textbook_ , he could say, but the way you said it makes him want to pull you into his arms. 

his mind is running at a thousand miles a minute. he wants to press a kiss into your hair and hold your hand. he wants to be the one you come home to every day, go to your troubles for, confide in. he wants you to be the last thing he sees at night and the first thing he sees in the morning. he wants to know everything about you. he wants you to know everything about him.

oh fuck.

he’s—.

he’s in love.

so in love with you.

fuckity fuck _fuck_.

“kyoutani-kun? are you okay?”

he somehow manages to choke out a “yes.”


	9. midway; atsumu miya

it’s a wednesday, and for some god forsaken reason, it’s a day off. it’s also your day off. it’s weird; it’s the middle of the week after all, but atsumu’s not gonna complain. atsumu’s learned to take things as they come and appreciate the little things, lest he be left hanging. after all, he’s not sakusa, who doesn’t ever respond to his jokes. he’s not bokuto, who has one foot in a sketchers and the other in a rocket launcher. he’s not—

“‘tsumu, do you want your tamagoyaki sweet or salty?”

he swivels his head over. you look cute: hair swept back and out of your face, sleeves up, cute little frilly apron on. you had picked that up on your third trip for things after you moved in together

(“why didn’t you remember to get it the last time?”

“oh shut up, ‘tsumu. we need a new whisk too, after you snapped the last one.”)

“‘tsumu?”

“uh, salty’s good, babe.”

you hum in response, “how’s the game going?”

right, he’s watching a game. a game between the alders and some other less significant team whose name he doesn’t really remember.

“it’s cool, i guess.”

you hum again, “lunch will be done soon.”

“‘kay.”

he turns himself back towards the screen, propping his face in hand. he frowns a little. tobio’s a little infuriating. he can see why he was bested in the rankings. his frown deepens. he was also a little jealous that tobio got to work with romero, but what can he do about that? sulk, sure, but that won’t change anything. it’s okay. he’s got lots to be proud of. for example:

  1. he's attractive.
  2. he is a professional athlete of national, maybe international, caliber.
  3. he’s got a decent salary. could be better, but what can he say, volleyball doesn’t hit the same way baseball does.
  4. he’s got the largest social media following out of all the jackals.
  5. this is very hard on a wednesday morning when you are somewhat brain-dead.
  6. he’s got a lovely, adorable little lover in you, making lunch for him in a cozy apartment for two.



lunch! he loves you! so much! lunch. what’s for lunch?

“what’s for lunch, babe?”

you switch off the stove, turning around to smile at him, “i made korean fried chicken with braised vegetables, rice and tamagoyaki on the side! do you want cola to drink? or is water okay?”

he loves you. he makes his way into the kitchen and wraps his arms around the small of your back before kissing your nose as thanks.

“water’s good.”

you nod and slip out of his arms to set the table with him following to help.

“how’d the match go?”

he wasn’t really paying attention. “tobio-kun kinda ticks me off.”

your laugh envelopes him in warmth. “don’t you think he would say the same?”

he hopes so, and he hopes you’ll be there next to him as he does it. the two of you finish putting everything on the table. you take off and hang up your apron as he slides into his chair. he wishes you would keep it on.

“wait.” you turn around. “keep it on.”

“why?”

he thinks you look like a cute little housewife, even though you two haven’t really talked about getting married yet. he takes a stab anyways. “you look like a cute little housewife.”

to his glee, you start tying the apron back on. you smirk, taking his comment in stride. “well, mr. pro athlete, you look mickey mouse.”

he’s happy that the housewife comment didn’t turn you away, joyful really. he wants to jump up and down, get on his knees and yell. he’s not happy about looking like mickey mouse though. his shorts are red and they’ve got volleyballs embroidered near where the buttons on mickey’s shorts would be and his t-shirt is black, so he guesses he looks like him, but it’s not his fault that his outfit was comfortable.

he scoffs, “that ol’ rat should be dead anyways.”

you sit down in your chair, “his name is mickey! and he’s a mouse!”

“rat poison works the same.”

“it does, doesn’t it?”

he was about to put a piece of tamagoyaki in his mouth. did you?

“wait—.“

you put a piece of bok choi in your mouth. “as if.”

he’d still love you even if you poisoned him, albeit a little less because you tried to kill him, but still. the food’s good, really good. he wants to kiss you.

“how’d you make this?”

you pick up one of your pieces of fried chicken and transfer it over to his plate. god, he’s so in love.

“youtube. took some tries to get it right though.”

“it’s really good, babe. you did amazing.”

you smile shyly, pinking at the praise. he didn’t know he married an angel, but he’ll be sure to thank god for letting you leave heaven’s gates and giving you mortality. he helps you clean up once lunch is done. he puts the pickled radishes back into the fridge, and spots a bowl of whipped cream.

“what’s the whipped cream for, babe?”

“oh, i made fruit sandwiches for myself yesterday and there were leftovers.”

he never really understood those fruit sandwiches with only 5 pieces of fruit and three inches of cream, but he supposed they looked cute and you were cute and 1 + 1 = 2, so it made sense.

“could ya make one for me?”

“you want dessert now?” well, your existence was a treat, but he decided that now was the perfect time to act like a chad so he prepared one of his chad lines.

he smirks, “well, if those sandwiches aren’t gonna happen, then what about you, babygirl?”

you blush up to your ears. wow. he really does love you, huh, it’s as if a naked cherub-cupid thing shot two billion arrows into his heart simultaneously. you close the space between the two of you and place your chin on his chest, looking up at him.

“you wanna keep the apron on?”

he beams.


	10. free cheesecake; atsumu miya

atsumu calls out your name.

“what?”

“it’s yer turn, doll.” 

“uh, am i the one asking or doing it?”

“askin’.”

“and i’m asking you?”

atsumu smiles wolfishly as he tightens his hold on your waist. you roll your eyes and spin the mechanical pencil in your hands, charm on the top whisking around. 

“alright, truth or dare then?”

“dare. truth’s for scrubs.”

“cry me a table,” akagi mumbles. atsumu turns to sneers at him and osamu uses that chance to throw a ritz cracker at his head. 

“i dare you to buy me one of uncle tetsu’s cheesecakes.” 

suna snorts. kita appears seemingly out of nowhere and snatches the fallen ritz cracker before it hits the ground and gives it to omimi who wraps it in tissue. 

aran laughs, “have fun!”

atsumu glares at you. “the hell? s’that fuckin’ place even open?”

you bring up the search results from google on your phone and show him. “until 9:30pm.” you smirk. “get runnin’ scrub.” 

he runs a hand through his bangs. “ya still mad ‘bout that shit, babe?”

“no, but ask me what i’d say to you if you were dying in my arms.”

“huh?”

ginjima looks over at you. “what’d you say to him if he was dying in your arms?”

you look atsumu straight in the eye. “i’d hold you close to me and smile like kira did when l died in his arms and tell you i win.“

“what the _fuck_ ,” ginjima whisper-laughs. 

“doesn’t kira die in the end too?” aran whispers to kita. kita has no idea. 

atsumu puts his face in his hands before walking out in front of you. “c’mon, babe, please. will ya forgive me if i buy that cake for ya?”

“yes, of course. we’ll have a summer wedding too.” 

suna scrunches his nose. “you’re gonna sweat to death.” 

“wa-wai-.” atsumu puts a hand over his face. 

you pull his hand away and look him in the eye, smiling softly. “atsumu, i can’t wait to have the same last name.”

“r-r-really?” his cheeks are pink as he looks at you expectantly. cute, little puppy dog. tighten the leash.

“yeah, osamu and i are getting married next week after the math quiz.” 

“hah?!” atsumu fumes and turns towards osamu, who was peering at suna’s phone screen. osamu flashes a quick peace sign. suna moves away as atsumu lunges at his brother. 

it’s 7:30pm and if he doesn’t get going soon, you won’t be able to taste the delicious fluffiness of your cheesecake. you’ll spoil him and kiss his cheeks and comb your hands through his hair and let him bury his face in your chest and tell him you love him and probably suck his dick later so you huff a sigh and decide to pretend to be mad just for a little longer even though you’ve long forgotten the reason why as you hide your small smile behind your hands.


	11. anywhere but here; wakatoshi ushijima

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by [in the summer](https://allpoetry.com/in-the-summer) by nizar qabbani, translated by b. frangieh and c. brown and the [mermaid headcanons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26472487/chapters/64507141) i wrote. this is also my submission for xin’s (tumblr @sugacookiies) 1k event!! the prompt im using is ‘departure’! congrats xin xin!!! luv u lots!! ♡(˃͈ દ ˂͈ ༶ )

“wakatoshi?”

rich olive eyes flick up to your face.

“what are you thinking about?”

his webbed fingers skim over your bare thigh. his touch is light, almost reverent, very curious. you watch as droplets of sea water fall from his fingertips to your skin and slide down the curve of your thighs.

“how does it feel to have legs?”

you tilt your head, staring at his open, yet stern features. the scales on his skin shimmer, sparkling a deep, ocean green. in the corner of your mind, you think of the tall evergreens that by that one park near the library.

what is it like having legs?

“i, well, like having legs—what’s it like having a tail?”

he frowns.

“suffocating.”

wakatoshi doesn’t like the sea. how lonely, cold and unforgiving she is, has become, despite the blazing summer sun.

he always feels like he’s drowning. like he’s swimming with handcuffs on. and he wants to unlock them, go elsewhere and be someplace where it’s warm, where there’s people, where he can coexist with you because he knows you hold the golden key.

but it’s hard to swim with your hands tied.

the boat floats, rocks gently. the water comes up to your mid calf where you’re sitting on the side of the boat with him between your open legs. there’s the light splish and plup of the waves meeting your boat.

you’re taken aback.

“oh.”

what else do you say?

you look at him with wonder, tinged with melancholy. the plastic bag full of snacks from the convenience store near your house that you bought to share with him crinkles with the wind.

you bring a hand up over his on your thigh.

“is there anything i can do?”

he looks up at you, tall, strong, yet weak, desperate. the fins behind his ears flicker.

his voice is a deep baritone, “take me with you.”

the summer sun blazes, the cry of the seagulls muffling what you say.

 _take me with you_.

if he told the sea what he feels for you, she would leave its depth, its shores, its frigidity.

she would leave its shells, its fish.

and follow him

as he follows you onto your boat three days later, with legs, with being able to breathe, finally unchained.

all under the gleam of the sun.


End file.
